Down Falls the Structures of Home
by RAReid
Summary: Modern AU. Elsa and Anna are in a special physiological warfare unit in the middle of an all-out war. Their ways are fighting are unconventional and disturbing, but what's more disturbing is the fact that . . . they love it. Dark!Elsa. Dark!Anna. Dark!Disney Princesses.
1. Twisted Love

**A/N:** I would like to stress that _I am not back_. I needed a way to vent anger and this little story came out of it. At first I wasn't even going to post it (because of it's short length and odd ending), but I thought you guys might enjoy it.

Cheers,

rareID

PS. Major gore warning.

* * *

A twisted smirk nearly breaks Anna's face in half and a dark glimmer sparks in her eyes.

"Really?" She drawls, running her tongue over her row of perfect teeth. "And here I thought you were finally starting to understand your . . . predicament."

The man tied to the chair in front of her—with most of his teeth ripped out, one ear sawed off, one forearm carved open with the skin pinned to the armrest – exposing the muscle and bone, all his toenails scattered in bloody splatters on the floor, and so much more—sobs uncontrollably. Anna's lips curl at the sight.

"Jesus, get a grip on yourself." She scolds.

"It's no use." Elsa's voice says, coming over the PA system. Anna smirks. Of course her superior had been watching. When had she not? They have the same tastes.

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Anna asks, the flame of dark passion lighting anew in her eyes.

"If you're thinking that his body is of more use than his knowledge than yes. Do whatever you wish to his body, but make sure he's alive when we stake what's left of him in his home town. I think that it'd be a little more demoralizing if the residences can hear his moans of pain."

A vicious smirk slides over Anna's lips, her face takes a predatory edge and her eyes gleam with excitement. "Aye aye, boss."

* * *

A slow smirk spreads over Elsa's lips as she watches Anna howl in amusement and the man howl in anguish on one of the monitors in her office. "As lively as always, I see." She says, watching Anna's movements with a keen eye and a sick fascination.

When Elsa had first found the girl three years ago, she had no idea that she had found a gem. All she knew was that the girl was crouching in a pool of blood, stabbing a long dead enemy soldier in the chest over, and over, and over again. On examination of the house, Elsa and her team found that three civilians, presumably the girl's family, had been gunned down. It left no questions to whom the killer of the soldiers were, but the girl was weeping and shaking like a leaf, even as she brought the blade down repeatedly.

Elsa admired the girl's will, if nothing else, and brought her back to her temporary base for some wack-job humanitarian to come take the girl and relocate her. During that waiting period, no more than three days, Elsa found her team prying the girl—who was laughing like a manic—off a mutilated enemy soldier.

'He told me everything!' Anna had cried, her head thrown back in laughter even as Elsa's soldiers restrained her. 'He told me everything as if would save his filthy life!'

After the girl had been locked up, Elsa watched the video footage and found that Anna had indeed gotten all the answers her team had wanted, along with information Elsa didn't even know the man was privileged to. She watched it a second time for Anna's technique, and though it was virtually nonexistent, Elsa noticed how the girl never stopped enjoying herself. That sadistic smirk was enough to stake claim on the girl, push through the papers of her enrolment and place her on Elsa's elite team of psychopaths.

A knock sounds on her door.

"What is it?" She calls, never taking her eyes off the monitor relaying all of Anna's blood-spattered glory.

"We've received orders from the top brass, Colonel."

Humming in thought, Elsa spins her chair around to face the door. "Come in."

The door opens and in comes Sergeant Kristoff – a newbie to the unit who was sent for interrogation cases that need a more soft, delicate touch. Elsa would have instantly transferred the innocent little lamb if his gentle understanding didn't work so damn well on tortured prisoners.

Kristoff opens his mouth to relay the message when a scream, followed by Anna's hysterical laughter, draws his eyes to the screens. He pales instantly. Oh, what a sweet, innocent little thing he is.

Too bad Elsa hates innocent things.

She taps her foot impatiently.

"Pretend I'm slacking on the job and watching a low resolution horror film. Now spit it out – what are our orders?"

Swallowing thickly, Kristoff tears his eyes away from the monitors and carefully trains his eyes at Elsa's hairline.

"We've been ordered to take out a small forward recon team. Apparently the main force is headed the same way and they want us to make a . . . display, for them to wade through. They suggested that a couple live ones might sweeten the allure of the spectacle."

A slow, crooked smile twitches at Elsa's lips.

"Really?" She asks, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Will the amount of people on the recon team make it a entrée or a small massacre?"

Kristoff shifts uncomfortably. "The recon team's number about ten soldiers to twenty soldiers, spread over a little under two-hundred fifty meters."

"So you mean they're small and stupid." Elsa interprets, her amusement falling away. "Fuck. They could at least _try_ to make it challenging for us." She cackles. "Then again, their formation is probably to combat regular forces, not criminally insane lunatics." Kristoff gives her a look. Elsa raises an eyebrow. "What? You didn't think my team and I are consciously aware of how fucked up we are? Did you think only 'normal people' like you were able to spot the missing bolts of your peers?"

Kristoff flushes in both embarrassment and fear. "No, Ma'am – I didn't—"

"I torture and maim for a living, Sergeant; and, since I grew up in times of peace, I can tell the difference." A wicked smirk twists her features. "It's just a matter of not actually caring that the moral part of you is broken." Her humour falls in favour of a dark, glowering mask. "But don't go thinking you're any better than us because, if anything, you are so much worse. You have all your morals intact yet still you continue to be a vital part of our operations.

"Your sense of morality is always begging you to make the right choice, yet you always choose the one that brings vial despair because of your fear of meeting the same fate. We commit war crimes every day, Mr. Bjorgman, and at the end of this war we're going to met our fates whether you're a good person at heart or no; because good people who willingly to bad things are just as evil as heartless scum like me." Elsa takes a moment for her words to seep in. "You're dismissed."

Kristoff's face twists in pain, but he silently salutes and leaves the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. Elsa stares at the door for a long couple of seconds, the silence only disturbed by Anna's 'fun' filtering over the speakers.

Maybe Elsa should transfer the man, after all. What's the point in everyone taking the fall once everything is said and done?

A slow smirk graces her features as she swivels her chair back to face the monitors.

Then again, why the hell not?

* * *

**A/N:** I probably will add another random piece or two to this, mainly because I need a 'fuck you people' venting place. I predict I'll give 2-3 more updates TOPS, and then I'm going to disappear again. So, enjoy it while it lasts, I guess? (If you enjoy this type of thing, at any rate)

Updates will be irregular.


	2. Meet the Crew

Almost half a day later Elsa—wearing her regular pristine officer's uniform—is striding with purpose into the conference room. The chatter of the people standing and sitting around the table hush and all eyes turn to her. Slowly, Elsa drags her eyes from one person to the next.

The first one she sees is Major Belle, someone she's been working with even closer than normal ever since Kristoff delivered her unit's orders. Belle is a former high-ranking intelligence operative with an eidetic memory and a self-taught protégé in the art of medicine and poison. She joined Elsa's physiological warfare unit—one of six—after her fiancée Adam, a Corporal in the infantry at the time, was used in the Beast experiment.

The half-beast half-human effect the project had killed every one of the soldiers involved. Her superiors tried to keep it from her, but it's hard to hide information from the one person in your office who can find anything on anyone, no matter where the data is hidden. She wears SWAT boots, dark navy cargos and a tight baby blue t-shirt. The tattoo "Long live the Beast" is in cursive down her left forearm.

The second and third Elsa sees is Captain Mulan and General Li Shang, although 'General' is more of a formality considering he's a Colonel's suburbanite. Mulan and Shang were both former heavy armour and weapon specialists, though it was their martial art abilities that allowed them to get out alive when their unit was massacred. Their heads never settled back the right way and Belle, finding their therapists' reports, instantly had them transferred to Elsa. Although they both always wear complete black—combats, cargos, and tank tops—in the field they are often donning heavy protective gear or armour.

The fourth is Lieutenant Merida, a Scottish firecracker who listens to no one—even her superiors—unless they've earned her respect. Merida was a grade A sniper in the special forces, but her unit leader tried to have her ousted for an attitude adjustment, to which Merida responded to by spitting in his eye. Again, Belle snatched up the information and transferred the girl to Elsa's team before she was arrested. Merida's attire is SWAT boots, camouflage pants, a black tank top and elbow-length leather gloves meant for archery.

The fifth is Second Lieutenant Blanchette, otherwise known as Red. She was in a regular infantry unit when her team came across an ally town that had been butchered and put on display much like physiological warfare teams—enemy and ally alike—are known for. Long story short she lost her marbles, went AWOL, killed a bunch of enemy soldiers—always by ripping open their stomach and scattering their entrails—and was transferred to Elsa's unit when Belle got a fix on her. Red's normal attire is crimson leather boots, crimson cargos, black t-shirt with red trimming, and a crimson half face mask.

The sixth is Private M. Pocahontas, otherwise known as Hound. She's a native who's reserve was razed by an enemy assault team with a commander John Smith. John took an interested and, claiming her for himself, declared only he was allowed to have his way with her. Hound listened as her friends and family were assaulted—in the many meanings of the word—day and night and something inside her snapped. She killed John and half his team before reinforcements—Elsa's team, ironically—came and did in the rest. Like Elsa had done with Anna, she pushed through Hound's enrolment and transfer orders. Hound's attire is combats, native style breeches and an off-white tunic. A machete is always strapped to her lower back.

The seventh is Master Corporal Rapunzel, who prefers the nickname Punz. Unlike the rest of the lunatics on the team, Punz isn't criminally insane. She's far from being soft like Kristoff, but she's not one to dive into the mess of blood and guts that everyone else has. Belle just happened to find out that Punz was a supply soldier who didn't care what she did or what channels she used to get what she wanted, and va-va-voom – she was transferred. Her normal clothing is navy converses, blue jeans, and a multi-coloured plaid collared shirt. Her pet chameleon, Pascal, is always netted on her shoulder. She has cropped brown hair, although it used to be a long bleached blond before she joined Elsa's unit.

The eighth, of course, is Sergeant Kristoff – the only fish out of water. He wears the regulation uniform, beret and all.

The ninth is Warrant Officer Hans. He's a weasel of a man whose schemes often get him into trouble with both his friends and his foes. No one in the unit likes him. The only reason Elsa doesn't have him transferred is because Hans likes to use enemy soldiers to act out sick fantasies, and she knows what he's capable of if she were to take that away from him. He wears combats, camouflage cargos and a deep orangey-red tank top.

The tenth and final—

Elsa raises an eyebrow.

—Isn't here.

"Where's Anna?" She asks. Belle shrugs.

"Last I checked she was working on one of our other prisoners. Something about wanting him to stew in his own filth for a bit before you take over."

"She gets two in one day?" Red asks, a sneer spreading over her lips. She kicks the table leg. "So unfair."

Elsa raises an eyebrow. "If I'd let you in there his intestines would be hanging around the room. While I appreciate how creative you can be with entrails, this one needed a more external touch." She shrugs. "Depending on what we need from the next one, I'll let you have your way with them."

"Well that's nice." Corporal Anna says as she pushes her way through the doors, wiping her hands off on a bloody cloth. Her clothes—SWATs, black cargos with a green stripe down the side and a green tank top—and skin are spattered with dried, drying and wet blood.

"For fuck sake." Punz spits, her face contorting. "The least you could do is wipe your ass before you walk into a sanitary environment."

Anna smiles, but there's no apology in it. "I lost track of time and didn't want to delay the meeting, so I neglected the half hour make-myself-clean-and-presentable phase in favour of being punctual. Hope you don't mind."

Before some trivial disagreement manifests, Elsa steps forward. Belle takes the hint and turns on the screen at the far end of the room, showing a topographic map with an X on one end and a small square almost two hundred kilometers southwest.

"Earlier today we received orders to take out a small recon team and 'put them on display' to demoralize the rest of their squadron when they march through." Elsa says. She points to the square. "We'll strike in this area tomorrow. We'll get there early to stake it out and to lay any traps you sick psychopaths want to have, and then we'll hide until all targets enter the area. Pretty much it's a get-in-there and do-whatever-the-hell-you-want job so long as we leave a few alive—but beyond saving—and make the area look as disturbing as possible."

"What are they equipped with?" Shang asks, eying the map carefully as it zooms in on the target area. "What are their strengths, weaknesses – what are they trained for?"

Elsa glances to Belle. When their eyes meet, Elsa nods. Nodding in response, Belle selects some options on her tablet—changing the screen to a slide-show of pictures of the unit they're to face—and stands.

"This is an up-and-coming special forces unit with a lot of potential, but they're not combat hardened. They're marching to their first real all-or-nothing battle now, and the top brass wants us to throw them off their game before they get there." Belle swipes her tablet and the screen switches to a verity of weapons. "This is the equipment that they're loaded with."

Mulan frowns. "Is that a transportable torrent?"

"Yes." Belle confirms. "But, from what I've been able to drudge up, I can safely say that it will be back with the main force. It's not mobile enough to use in scouting. Either way, you and Shang have to be on the lookout for heavy loaders, because you're the only two who can take them out."

Merida spies a weapon and snorts. "Look at that pansy excuse for a sniper! I could take out the poor fucker wielding that thing with a compact bow!" As she cackles at her own humour, Hound taps her fingers on the table.

"How trained are they in close quarters?" She asks.

"Very much so." Belle says. "However, they're primarily trained in weapons and will try their best to keep out of close-quarters fighting. If you can get close to them, however, they'll be weighed down by their gear and you'll have the speed advantage. Well, along with being in hand-to-hand life or death combat already – you will sure of your action while I can guarantee they will be at least partially hesitant."

"Are we allowed to play cat and mouse?" Hans asks, a disturbing smile relaxing on his lips.

"No." Elsa says, before Belle can respond. Hans's smile drops.

"You said—"

"The scout team is only going to be an hour in front of the rest of the squadron, tops – what the fuck do you think they're going to do when they start hearing gunfire? And what direction do you think a scout is going to run when being chased?" Elsa asks, her hard eyes boring accusingly into Hans. He sneers.

"What's the point in telling us we can do whatever we want if we can't?" He asks, his teeth grinding together.

Before Elsa can answer, Anna barks a sour, acidic laugh.

"The point is that she knows everyone else will realise that she means 'do whatever you want within the parameters of the surrounding circumstances', you dumb shit. Your mother's uterus can't protect you forever, pretty boy, so why don't you crawl your way out of her cooch before Red slices it open?"

As Hans progressively gets redder, Merida and Punz burst into hysterical laughter. Red looks vaguely amused. For the most part, everyone else—exasperated—bites their tongue as Elsa sends Anna a sharp look.

"This is not the time for squabbling." She grinds, a dark warning seeping into her words. Anna smiles easily and raises her hands in surrender. Hans only grunts an angry affirmative.

Punz leans over in her seat and pokes Anna's leg. Anna turns to her. Punz grins. "You're back in my good books." She stage whispers. Anna can't stifle her grin even as Elsa glares at the supply master with murderous eyes.

"Don't encourage her." Elsa snarls. Much like Anna had done, Punz raises her hands in surrender. Unlike Anna, the look in Elsa's eyes is enough to subdue her outward show of amusement.

"Thank you." Hans huffs, his faint air of superiority tripling in size. Elsa levels her glower at him.

"Don't you fucking thank me for saving your ass_ again_ because you're too much of a dickless moron to realize that the only reason I have to is because of your lack of teamwork etiquette. It's not my job to continuously keep my unit from strangling you in your sleep, so get your goddamn act together, kapish?" Elsa's glower shines with dark promises and Hans wilts instantly. She turns to Belle. "Send everyone the information." She turns to the room. "We'll go over the game plan before we head off. If you don't read the info Belle sends you before then I'm going throw you out of the fucking chopper and laugh at your crushed corpse. Dismissed."


	3. The Job We Live For

Mulan and Shang, in heavy black bullet-proof body armour, pace the perimeter with nasty-looking custom assault rifles in hand. They were never one to partake in the acts Elsa, Anna, Red and Hans love to indulge in, but they were more than okay with protecting them. Those four enact a justice in a way Mulan and Shang will never be able to, after all.

Mulan pauses under a tree and continues scanning the surrounding area. Without looking up, she says; "See any movement in this area?"

Hound, perched high in the branches of the tree Mulan is standing under, grunts in reply.

"Nothing so far." Hound says, her voice transmitting from her throat mic to Mulan's—and everyone else's—in-ear receiver. "Though I suspect we don't have much more time until I pick up movement."

"What's your estimate?" Mulan asks.

Hound shrugs, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. "I say we should be all packed and lifting off within ten minutes.

Mulan nods and continues on her way. "Get that?" She asks, never dropping her vigilance.

"Obviously." Comes Elsa's reply. A groan sounds, distinctly from another member of the team.

"That means I won't be able to finish my last masterpiece!" Mulan pinpoints the voice as Red.

"Bah!" Another voice spits, with a lilt that can only belong to Merida. "I've been sitting like a fucking tard in this chopper for the past bloody hour with a damn M-fourteen DMR instead of my baby because there's no damn vantage points in this area, so don't you start—"

"I don't think a Remington MSR counts as a 'baby'." Shang says, his bored tone showing even while being transmitted.

"Not the fucking point, Ching." Merida growls. "The point is that I'm bored as hell because I'm left on fucking chopper guarding duty with our reindeer boy pilot while all you shits get to punch, stab, gut and kill things."

"Some of us are on guard duty just like you." Mulan says, turning heel and pacing back the way she came.

"At least you get to walk around." Merida grumbles.

"If you recall,"—Hound's voice drawls—"I'm on guard duty, too, and I'm not walking around."

"You're a fucking tree hugger, so it doesn't count." Merida retorts. "And, if I recall, you got to kill two scouts before you had to perch your pretty little ass—"

A male voice clears his throat. "Why don't we all just—"

"No one gives a shit, Kristoff. Keep your eyes on the controls."

"The chopper isn't even runnin—"

"No one cares."

"Shut up." Elsa's voice snarls. "We have more important things to do than bicker, so get your acts together and do your jobs. We'll be out of here soon enough so you complaining shits can just suck it up and deal. Got it?"

A chorus of 'roger's and 'yes ma'am's echo through the closed line, before it goes ghostly silent. Mulan sighs softly through her nose, shaking her head at the lack of comradery within her unit. A part of her misses the dedication between soldiers that she felt in her old trade, but she also remembers how much it hurt lose her old squadron – people she cared about.

Protecting people who she couldn't give a damn about is more than a far trade for the justice they enact against the men and women who damned her sanity.

In the end, maybe that's all that matters.

* * *

Anna sheathes her now clean blade and wipes sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of wet blood behind. She takes a moment to admire her handy work.

The woman, uniform sliced open, is craved open and pinned to the forestry like a frog discectomy from the collarbone all the way down the legs.

Considering she only had fifteen minutes to work on this one, the quality of the final product isn't too shabby.

The woman, still alive, twitches in her pain-induced sleep. Anna imagines the wildlife having a field day with her open carcass, and an evil grin stretches from ear to ear.

How she loves fun and games.

Checking her watch, she silently nods to herself and starts making her way back to the chopper. Along her way, someone else falls into step beside her. She doesn't have to look to know who it is.

"What-d-ya want, Hans?"

A Cheshire grin spreads over his lips. Anna grits her teeth and narrows her eyes.

"Did you have fun?" He asks, casually.

Anna slides her eyes over to examine the man's figure from the corner of her vision. Like her he is covered in blood, but he has a bruise forming on his cheek and angry claw marks on his neck. She turns her gaze forward.

"Playing with your food again? You should really learn to tame your tigers before you try to bite into them."

Anna can sense more than see Hans's jaw tightening, and she twitches a smirk in response.

"Can you two behave?" Elsa's annoyed voice barks in their receivers. "We only have two minutes to get out of here safely, and I'd rather not have to leave you two bickering children behind for being late."

"I'll behave if he does, boss." Anna says, shrugging even though the other woman can't see it. Hans gives her a glance out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm not one to risk my safety in a hot zone, Colonel, so no need to worry about me." He says, after a beat.

Elsa snorts. "Like I did in the first place." Anna can't suppress her grin, especially when Hans clenches his fists in response. Elsa continues with; "I expect you two at the evac zone in ninety seconds. If you're not here, consider yourselves terminated."

Hans pulls off his throat mic and snorts, shoving the piece of technology into one of the many pockets of his combats. Anna barely even spares him a glance.

That is, until a sharp pain is suddenly throbbing from her shoulder.

Letting out a cry, Anna pitches forward – her right hand tightly wrapped around the dagger buried to the hilt in her shoulder. In the same instant Anna rips out the blade, Hans rips off her transceiver – disabling her from calling for help. In a quick series of blocks and jabs, Anna is able to get inside Hans's defense and slam the dagger—still slick with her own blood—into his side, right above his hip.

Not waiting around for him to recover, Anna bolts in the direction of the chopper. Sweat beads on her forehead and she grits her teeth against the pain pulsing through her body. Her blood rages so loud in her ears that she can barely hear the chopper roaring in the field not a hundred meters in front of her. It's only when she bursts through the trees and into the clearing that she realises just how close she actually was.

With an extra boost of adrenaline, Anna clenches her teeth and sprints towards the troubled—and mostly blood-splattered—faces peering out from the open chopper door.

Seconds from reaching her goal, a sharp spark of pain shoots up her leg and is immediately followed by a similar feeling in her lower back. She collapses with a blood-curling holler that the roar of the chopper blades do their best to drown out. As if through a tunnel she hears gunfire, feels herself being lifted and sees Mulan and Shang bolting from the chopper, running in the direction she had just came.

Time passes in a haze, but she feels her wounds being treated, the chopper lurching into motion, hears Elsa commanding Belle over a radio to get a medical room ready and sees Shang slamming Hans's face into the floor of the helicopter while Mulan keeps the traitor restrained. Anna supposes she should feel glad that the slimy bastard is finally getting what's coming to him, but it's too much of a bitter sweet victory to savour it.

"Fly faster, would ya?" Merida snaps, her hand clenching and unclenching on the grip of her M14.

"I'm going as fast as I can!" Kristoff grits. "The problem is that I have to take the pre-planned round-about way home so that the enemy can't pinpoint our headquarters."

Merida turns to Elsa. "Can we—"

"No." Elsa says, cutting off the Scot in a stern fashion, but Anna can see the tension straining the woman's features. "I can't jeopardize my unit's safety for the sake of one."

"With our route it'll take us at least an hour to get back." Red protests. "If we redirect to a straight route we can get there in half that time."

"I said no!" Elsa shouts, her eyes ablaze. "If we lead the enemy back to our base it won't fucking matter if we get Anna to Belle in time – we'll be swarmed sooner than you can pull a trigger and then we'll all be on our death beds. I want to do more to help her—trust me, I do—but we won't be able to move her for at least twelve hours after surgery, if not more, meaning we'd be pinned in position until we could transport her. By making her wait a half an hour more we're saving everyone here from a lot of pain, and I'll take that over the alternative any day."

The members of the unit exchange silent, anxious glances. It's broken by a weak chuckle.

"As long as you can stem the blood flow for that long, I think I'll be fine." Anna says. She coughs softly, then instantly winces. "Some morphine would be appreciated, though."

Elsa meets Anna's eyes, her face not betraying the thoughts going through her head. Anna smiles weakly in response.

Just like that, Elsa nods to Hound—the one with the medical kit—and the native sets about pulling out a morphine shot and stabbing it into Anna's arm. Anna winces, but otherwise doesn't look very effected by it.

Sometime after, the world becomes a hazy blur and, despite the voices calling out to her to stay with them, drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Blinking away drowsiness, Anna stares up at the ceiling, squinting against the lights. She glances around the room, taking in monitors and medical equipment. Her eyes fall on two thick files and one report resting on the table beside the bed. Tilting her head curiously, Anna grabs the stack and—with minor difficulty due to her recovering injuries—pulls the stack onto her lap.

Picking up the stapled pages of the report first, Anna scans it over.

The date is marked two days after her mission in the woods, and it summarizes the punishment Hans endured for his actions. The last two pages are double sided and show the pictures of what her team actually did to him.

Grinning from ear to ear, Anna sets the report aside and opens the first folder.

The entire thing is the service record and experiment details of one Lieutenant Colonel Megara, AKA Subject Hercules in the Zeus program. It says the project had been running for the past three years, working to enhance a person's physical ability to an unbelievable level. Some pages right at the end hint at terminating all the test subjects, but provides no explanation as to why. The very last page details Belle transferring the officer into Elsa's unit the day before Hans's untimely demise, but actually arriving the day after that.

Anna's eyebrows furrow. Exactly how long has she been out?

Setting the folder aside, Anna frowns at the last file that had been left for her. Taking a steadying breath, Anna opens it up.

Dated five days after her mission in the woods, this series of documents outline—

She pauses. Waiting a beat—to let the shock wear off—Anna re-scans the first page. Her eyebrows knitting and a frown tugging at her lips, the redhead quickly flips through the pages, scanning only for the most important pieces of information.

When she gets to the end, Anna grits her teeth and—with a holler—throws the folder across the room, sending paper flying everywhere.

* * *

"So . . . it really is true, then?" Punz asks, a frown tugging at her lips.

Elsa sighs and, for the first time ever, actually takes a seat at the head of the conference table.

"I'm afraid so." She confirms, taking in the various reactions from her unit.

"So I jumped from one sure way to hell into another, eh?" Megara asks, sighing as she slouches back into her chair. "The devil must really have it out for my head."

"Don't calculate your losses before you know all the facts." Elsa advices, though she herself looks just as drained as everyone else.

"Considering a permanent peace is being settled and the top brass of both sides are calling those responsible for war crimes in for court martial, I highly doubt facts will do us any good; especially considering our unit's specialty." Shang breathes, rubbing his temples roughly.

"In this case, facts might actually be the only thing that'll give us the upper hand." Belle interjects, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on the table. Elsa raises an eyebrow.

"Really?" She asks. "How so?"

Belle pulls out her tablet and selects an image to show on the far screen in the room. Everyone on the team—except Megara, who merely tilts her head in confusion—murmurs to each other at the sight of the original photos of the six physiological warfare units, taken four and a half years prior.

"Although we are all technically one and the same, the six units rarely ever communicate with each other, and we all serve the end goal in different ways." Belle says, zooming in on one of the units. "For example Gypsy Company, lead by Major Esmeralda, is a wondering unit who likes to go behind enemy lines and get in good with the officers so they can easily slink around to steal, sabotage and forge documents. This unit only kills if they are in direct threat and there's no other way to go about it, but they are still guilty of torturing prisoners and permanently maiming people in creative ways.

"Sea Urchin Company, lead in joint by a Captain Ursula and Captain Triton, specializes in anything related to the sea." Belle switches the screen to the outdated picture of that unit. "They do everything from bombing, sabotaging, pirating, forgery, sexual sadism—as a form of torture—and, of course, just straight up torture. They have done some shit that even our unit couldn't imagine doing, such as putting someone's hair in a boat's propeller for fun and revving the engine until, well, you get the point."

While the two present gutters—Red and Elsa—remain unaffected by this information, the rest of the team cringes on a variable scale.

"Aurora Company,"—Belle continues, switching the photo—"lead by Brigadier General Maleficent, specializes in demoralizing soldiers _in the middle of combat_. They are front line workers who operate in the background while both sides are firing at each other, and—"

Elsa holds up her hand and Belle stops, waiting for guidance. "While all this is all well and interesting,"—the commander says, lowering her hand—"what does it have to do with Ice Queen Company? I understand that some of the six units are less accountable for war crimes than others, but all the evidence on them still makes them damned to the same fate as us."

"Seems to me that every unit has a unique specialty." Punz says, frowning as she stares up at the screen. "In fact, they're all specialized in a way that no one could ever hope to duplicate." She turns her chair to face Elsa. "I deal with this in trading all the time. There are certain people that I always go to, no matter how high their price is when compared to a similar product elsewhere, because the performance of the weapon or quality of the object in general can't be replicated.

"After you do business with them for so long, those people start to become something of a crutch – meaning you wouldn't know what to do with yourself if they suddenly weren't there anymore." Punz gestures to Belle. "What I think the Major is trying to get at is that we have become something of a security net to our nation and allies; a trusty friend that they can always rely on. With everything coming to a close, however, the top brass are starting to whisper about our necessity and whether or not we should take the brunt of the public outcry.

"Tell me,"—she continues—"if you're a businessman and your biggest lifeline is thinking of cutting you loose, would you just sit back and let them choose or would you fight tooth and nail to keep them on your side?" Punz glances around the table. Seeing the comprehension donning on her squad mates faces, the girl plays her final card. "All we need to do is clean up shop, make ourselves look as appealing as possible and pitch a case they can't refute. We need to prove to them that they still need us – that we are still their crutch and that we can still help them." Punz nods her head to Kristoff. "That makes this guy invaluable."

Kristoff jumps, startled. "Me? Why am I so important?"

A slow, understanding smile spreads over Red's lips. "Of course." She breathes, twirling her chair to face the Sergeant. "You're the only one on this unit who doesn't have something on their record that refers to you as 'broken' or 'damaged', meaning your word will be taken in a much higher regard than ours. That means you could use your higher standing to get the court to sway to our side."

Kristoff raises his hands in a 'slow down' motion. "Wait a second here, why do you think I would vouch for liquidators in a losing case? That would bring my standing in the court down, possibly even leveling my word with the dirt. What help would I be to anyone, then?" The hard stares he gets are enough to make him wish the ground would swallow him whole, but Elsa's cold stare is enough to pin him solidly in place.

"You are a bystander and a first-hand witness to our inner workings." The Colonel says, her voice unfeeling and full of warning. "In knowing all this and doing nothing, you—by default—are labelled as indorsing our actions; incriminating you just as much as my direct actions incriminate me. Since you worked so closely in all the internal workings of this team, the only way to clear some of the blood from your name is to also clear the same amount of blood from everyone else in this unit.

"It don't matter what our actions were prior to being transferred to Ice Queen, and it doesn't matter what our independent actions were once we had been. That court room is going to see us as a whole – they're going to judge us on the assumption that we all worked together in the exact same methods, not the independent roles we have all taken upon ourselves. This battle is one that either all of us win, or all of us go out with the succession of _bang_'s from a firing squad." Elsa leans back in a chair. "To save yourself you must save us, and to save ourselves is to save you. If you want to take us down you can, you have the right, but is a court martial's punishment—often jaded by lies, rumors and bribes—really what you think we deserve?"

Kristoff is silent for a long moment, his eyes downcast and hollow in thought.

On one hand he could singlehandedly take out the people who have been causing his moral beliefs hell from day one, but on the other . . . will the judge really serve justice, or will they serve what's best for the people who move them like a puppet?

As much as Kristoff knows this unit deserves something for their crimes, he also doesn't believe that any punishment he deems worthy will come out of this whole affair. That, and it gives him no pleasure to think of Ice Queen's demise. It just leaves him . . . hollow, like there's a piece of himself that he can never fix.

A part of him realises that in the months he's spent here a part of him has already cracked – and he knows nothing will ever be able to fix it.

Maybe he's not as broken as these people, but he knows he's not well enough to be considered ordinary.

He's in the space where he's too cracked to ever be normal, but he's not shattered enough to fit in with the broken. And while he doesn't want to break further, he also knows he can't repair the glass pieces of himself that have already started to fracture.

These people are the only ones he could ever hope to understand, and the only people who could ever possibly understand him back.

So, no matter how much it hurts, Kristoff sighs and nods. "I will fight to clean the blood off our squad's reputation until my dying breath."

Elsa twitches a barely-there smile, and something about it reminds Kristoff of the pat-on-the-back approval he never knew he wanted from his commander. It lights a small—but warm—fire in his chest, and he grants the Colonel with a small smile of his own.

"That still doesn't explain what we're actually shooting for." Mulan says, interrupting the silent exchange. "Even if Kristoff is able to clean our slate enough not to get the death sentence, there's no way in hell that we'd be able to get out without some kind of severe sentence. With our reputation of bloodshed and escape tactics under heavy surveillance, I can guarantee you that they won't slam us in any type of state prison. Hell, I doubt they'd even risk putting us in a military prison. So tell me, where exactly would they actually be able to put us if they do decide to keep us alive?"

Belle smirks. "I was waiting for that question." Fiddling with her tablet, Belle puts up the images of multiple highly secure buildings. "Over the course of this conflict many research labs were created to hold dangerous test subjects such as Megara." Megara, arms crossed over her chest, raises an eyebrow. Belle ignores her and continues with; "while the upper levels are more for scientists and are unfit to handle a squad of highly trained maniacs who pay no heed to morals, the lower levels are made to hold people much more dangerous than us. Since—"

"—Oh!" Megara interrupts, realization sparking in her eyes. "That's fucking genius!" Off the confused looks around the table—excluding Belle, who merely smirks—Megara says; "facilities like this used the ever pressing war to sneak under the radar in order to conduct illegal experiments. Since no one had the time to spare looking into experimentation labs which are made to look outwardly legit, the scientists were able to get away with practically anything so long as they didn't hamper the war effort. They were only able to get their hands on me—a high ranking officer—because the military had planned to discharge me due to damning injuries.

"Anyway, the point is that the scientists pulled a lot of sick shit – most of it worse than what your squad specializes in, believe it or not. So, in order to save their asses from court martial due to war crimes, they started shutting down all the programs and destroying the evidence, including the human experiments they harbored. Because of this it's practically guaranteed that none of these facilities will have a primary function anymore, and any would jump at the chance to repurpose them. After all, the sooner they change the usage, the sooner people will forget the to question the place's scandalous secret past."

"Wait,"—Merida cuts in—"if they were killing all the test subjects, how were you able to get away? I can't see those lab monkey's wanting a loose end running around."

"That was my doing, actually." Belle says, twitching a prideful smile.

"Of course it was." Merida says, an amused smirk spreading across her lips. She leans back in her chair. "Wonder why I even asked."

Everyone is content with leaving the topic there, but the curious, solid gaze Megara locks onto Belle forces the woman to explain.

"Your official file has you in rehabilitation with a pending discharge, so no one would have really wondered about you if you never came home. Things happen all the time in warzones, after all." Belle says. "What I did was change the file to 'recovered' and 'returning to active duty' and then transferred you out of your lab under a false pretense that you were being moved to another. By the time those lab rats knew what was going on, your name was back on the map and on a team that would soon be facing judgement.

"They tried to get you back." She says, grinning wildly in amusement. "But their computer skills are nothing compared to mine; especially since I can hack into their system and make them see whatever I want them to see. Point is, they won't know you haven't been off-ed until all of us are already in trail. They'll probably try to send someone after you, but I think they've engineered your body too well for anyone other than another Zeus subject to get the better of you. All in all, the moment our sentence is passed, they won't be able to touch you without outing themselves."

It takes a moment to sink in but, once it does, a grin splits Megara's face in half and she pulls Belle over her chair and into a crushing hug.

"I think I'm in love." Subject Hercules says, smirking when she hears the bookworm wheeze. Setting the girl back in her chair, Megara smirks and pats Belle's forearm in encouragement to get the air back into her lungs.

Rolling her eyes at the display, Elsa glances around the room. "So, do you guys think we can do this or what?"

Shang shrugs. "I don't see why not." He pauses. "Do you think we should inform the other units? I mean I'm sure they'll come in handy later on."

"If they're not smart enough to come up with a self preservation tactic on their own, than they're not smart enough for us to even bother with them." Elsa retorts. "I have no doubt in my mind that all the other units are thinking the same thing, and I can assure you that they're using this as a way to see which units are worth their time and which ones aren't. Once final judgement is passed, all the units left standing will be united under the same banner." A feral smile spreads over Elsa's lips. "We'll be stronger than the allied governments could ever possibly predict, and, in the end, that will serve us back to our rightful places in society."

Murmurs of agreement pass back and forth between the team members.

"Right,"—Hound says, putting direction back in the conversation—"now that we all have this settled, who's going to go tell feisty pants?" Red frowns.

"We can only deal with that after she wakes up." She shifts uneasily. "Let's just hope it's with enough time to get her up to speed. Well, if she wakes at all."

Belle waves off the woman's concern. "It was only the prolonged voyage to receive aid—with all the negative effects of blood loss and such forth—that's kept her under this long, so she's not in a permanent slumber. That,"—Belle vaguely waves her tablet in the air—"and I was notified the moment she woke up."

Half the room springs to attention.

"She's awake?" Merida asks, both shock and relief flooding her voice.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Red accuses, even though it looks as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

"Is she fairing okay?" Kristoff asks, concerned for the psychopath despite his better judgement.

"How about we all just quiet down and let Belle tell us what she knows? It's obvious this happened during the meeting because she would have informed us sooner otherwise." Mulan says, gaining her an approving look from Elsa. Belle twitches an impressed smile.

"Indeed you're right." Belle allows, before turning to the room. "It was when Elsa was explaining the scope of our situation right off the top of the meeting. Since I already memorized the briefing, I took the time to take a look at the Corporal through the eyes of the med bay's security cameras once I was informed of her waking. She read the files I left for her—so she is caught up on everything she missed while she was out—but she was far from impressed. In fact, she chucked the documents holding the war's current stand and our place in that right across the room." She chuckles softly. "The feisty thing is probably seething by now."

Everyone in the room—except Elsa and Megara—pale. Elsa frowns, a bit of unease working into her poster. Megara furrows her eyebrows, gauging everyone's reaction in confusion.

"I . . . I think I'm missing something, here." Megara says slowly, carefully measuring her words.

"That's probably for the best." Hound relents, fidgeting in apprehension. Her eyes flick nervously to the door. "Anna isn't exactly the most rational person when faced with unchangeable, unfair circumstances that are directed towards her or somehow effect her in a damning way. With her mind being broken in the way that it is, things can often get . . . messy, in a way even our gutters find disturbing."

Punz shrugs. "She can be a total sweetheart or a complete basket case. At first these swings were sudden and irrational, but we've been able to curb it over the years. Now it takes a lot to get under her skin in a way that'll make her go berserk, but you'd better stay out of her way when she does." Pascal, sitting on her shoulder, nods in agreement.

Elsa sighs and pushes from her seat. "Guess I should go talk to her before shit hits the fan, then."

"Shit has already hit the fan." Red retorts, raising an eyebrow. "Unless you don't count 'we're going on trail for war crimes and could be executed' as hell breaking loose."

Elsa levels Red with a look that has the rest of the room holding their breath. Eventually even Red cracks under the pressure and averts her eyes, nervously scratching the back of her neck.

Without saying a word, Elsa leaves the room.

Silence spreads through the room.

Merida frowns. "I wonder if she'll be less scary once the treaties are signed and she can't maim any of us without damning herself."

The question settles over the room and, without so much as a glance at each other, everyone aside Megara says:

"Definitely not."

Megara smirks at the exchange.

Even tied to their fate and damned to hell, she thinks she just might be able to find a place for herself in this squad. Maybe it'll help her bring purpose back into her life. Maybe she will be able to bring purpose back into the lives of her new company.

Maybe, as a team, they can grow and show the world just what monsters their selfish desires created.

Megara's smirk turns dark and spreads widely across her face.

This world will pay for the sins of the ones who were drunk with power, and she's going to make sure that she'll be there to see it.

* * *

**A/N:** Alright! This is the end. I could have easily continued with the trial, their imprisonment, the developments they had while locked up and then expand to them being temporarily released to handle a mission only they are qualified for, buuut it'd definitely take me at least 150 pages and I _so_ do not want to do that again.

So, for now, I shall disappear again.

Cheers,

rareID


End file.
